by Amelia Oz
She shook her head and continued pacing.
"I shall reverse the order of your questions so the answers make better sense. Three, hell no. Two, I am a Chishioni. This might also be considered a vampire." She plopped down on the chair opposite me. "My father was an important Shogun in Japan. My mother was Chinese. One night a group of Chishioni vampires broke into our complex and murdered my family in revenge for my father's enforcement of his territory. The leader was a woman who gave me a choice to die with my family or turn." Her voice was emotionless as she shared her tale. She might as well have been reciting a story about a stranger. "I was a coward and chose life.
"The Lion had hunted these monsters and tracked them to my home, where he found me on the road. It was dawn by then. I recall looking up into the purple blooms of our ancient wisteria tree, thinking of my parents' bodies growing cold and already regretting my dishonorable decision." Ford moved to stand behind her chair, touching her shoulder. She blinked and looked at her lap. I tucked my hands beneath my thighs and waited.
"I begged him to kill me, but he said honor is complicated. He promised me revenge if I joined him and so I did. That day, when that Chishioni vampire taunted me with a choice, I chose life over my family and honor. Every single day I regret that choice. That is all you need to know about me." She stood, shaking free of Ford's hand.
"One, a blood companion is someone you choose to provide blood for you. I must drink every day from a vein or I grow weak. Although I have had several blood companions, they tend to die. My enemies hunt me as I hunt them, and anyone close to me becomes a target." She shrugged. Ford beamed as if she had just announced he was the new wide receiver for the Seahawks.
"Before you can ask, I’ll give you one for free. The Lion is not Chishioni. He was once human and angel but now he is vampiric demon and angel. The only one of his kind. His self-control is legendary, and counted upon to keep the balance amongst the different Primati factions. Regrettably, rumors have spread lately that he is killing humans without provocation and locking himself away in his tower." She got up and moved towards the secret door.
"Wait! Can I ask one more question?"
"Stella! Enough," she hissed, turning on me with pupils so large her eyes appeared black. Ford edged away from her. I leaned forward in my seat and asked her anyway.
"Will you help me avenge Silvan?" My fists bunched the fabric at my knees as a slow, wicked smile curved her lips.
"What do you think I've been doing? Just stay out of my way. Oh—and do not ever enter my domain without invitation again. Not unless you want to lose your head." She disappeared and Ford followed with an apologetic smile and wave. Damn it.
Alaric did not return for dinner. I'd been living inside such a bubble I wasn't sure where and when he even ate dinner. Shame stung once again. I'd been so obsessed with my muffled existence that I hadn't noticed his routines outside of the time we spent together. Maybe he was right. I didn't know him as well as I thought.
For the first time since I'd arrived, I felt the urge to explore the streets of Manhattan. The alternative was to slip back into bed and the arms of that hungry half-sleep that would only keep me churning inside with grief and rejection. I had a feeling he would not be checking on my dreams tonight. The memory of his turned back while I begged him for a chance spurred a quick change into jeans and my old sneakers.
When I pressed the elevator button, the doors slid open to reveal an ugly surprise. The back of the elevator car was a wall of writhing black and grey smoke that twisted and curled wildly, but did not dissipate; nor did it leave the confines of the elevator. The scent of moldy straw emanated from its swirling depths. There was a foot of empty space at the front, and when the shifting mass stayed in place without smoke alarms wailing, I studied its erratic patterns.
I slapped my palms together. No reaction. Perhaps it was just a weird magick art installation. Only one way to find out. I held my breath and tried to slip inside the elevator car, planning to stay near the buttons. The sliding shadows flowed forward and solidified into an unyielding wall that refused to allow me entrance. Huh. I reached out a hand. When a pocket of haze pushed forward as if to meet my fingers, I chickened out and drew back at the last second. I flapped my hands, testing whether it would dissipate as smoke or settle as fog. It coiled backwards, only to rush forward, ice cold, when I tried once more to enter.
After several frustrating attempts, I took off my shoes and threw them at the shadows, only to have my sneakers bounce off, tumbling along the polished marble of the foyer floor. The elevator doors slid shut. My safe haven had morphed into a jail and I was the prisoner.
Grayson did not respond when I spoke in the air as Alaric did for him, which may or may not have been related to my choice of language. Alaric's office was empty and I was alone in the apartment. I knocked at Jing San's secret door, but all I got was a whispered apology from Ford. I could call 911 for a rescue, but something told me that would be a very bad idea.
I wandered the empty apartment in a rage, finally making my way to the rooftop garden. I screamed, long and blood curdling, into the humid night air. The barrier around the roof dug into my belly as I stared down at Fifth Avenue, with its endless lines of cars, taxis, and people going somewhere. Turning, I spied the large Hemlock Alaric and I had emerged from that first night. The idea came in an instant. I raced back to my room and went straight to the walk-in closet, sighing with relief when I spied the Powell's book tote hanging from a hook. I dumped its contents onto my bed and stared down at a thin book on druids and another on elemental magick.
If I couldn't leave, then I would use my time to research magick. Namely, how to transfer from one place to another. I found a small notebook and pen in my bedside table and set furiously to work.
An hour later and I still knew nothing about transferring. All the advice on magick related to herbs, moon phases, and old wives' tales. No mention of transferring or instructions that were helpful. I tossed the book to the foot of the bed. If only I could speak with Thomas and ask for his guidance. I thought back on that day at the cliff when I’d jumped. More than one person claimed the air carried me down. All I recalled from that jump was visualizing a slow fall. And I remembered Tess explaining how my enchantment was influenced by intention. Could it be that simple? Imagine something hard enough and it would happen?
I assumed a lotus position in the center of the bed and placed my hands loosely on my knees. As I did in meditation, I focused on my breathing for several minutes. Then I began to think about Thomas. I imagined how it would feel to go to him. Find him. I envisioned his face, his eyeglasses, and nervous gestures. My entire focus was on Thomas. If I could locate him, then perhaps we could communicate, or maybe he could even transfer me to him.
Several moments passed. A warm feeling intensified at the base of my skull and sweat pooled, making even my fingertips slippery. Just as I was about to give up, I felt the bed dip violently.
My eyes popped open to find Thomas sprawled sideways across my bed. He wore athletic shorts and a green hoodie, his hair wild and his expression horrorstruck. I screamed, and leapt from the bed. Thomas was making plenty of noises of his own. I clutched my chest and Thomas rolled off the bed, backing away towards the windows.
"Thomas!"
He pulled his hair and frantically glanced around the room. Without thinking, I made the international hand signals for calm down.
"It's okay! You're safe. Did I...did I bring you here?" Thomas straightened and his heaving breaths gradually slowed, but still he didn't speak.
"Why aren't you saying anything?"
Eyes darting about my bedroom, he approached my bed to pick up the little notebook and pen. His writing was comprised of quick, jagged strokes and when he flipped the pad of paper around for me to see, it read WTF!
I shrugged, just as surprised as he was. He scribbled more, showing me the page. I'm mute.
Fingers of ice flicked along my spine.
"I don't understand, Thomas." Oh, God. I was going to have to try to contact Clara or Tess for help. Had I damaged him? He paused to cast a stern look at me, as if willing me to understand something. I had nothing. He shook his head and scribbled another word. Punished.
"Punished?" The only beings who might use such a word might be Murad...or the druids. The druids...who prized their privacy above all else. Whose existence Thomas confided in us about.
"Did the druids take away your ability to speak?" I asked, aghast at such a barbaric consequence.
He tapped the side of his nose with a finger. Bingo. I rushed to him, flipping the page on the notepad, encouraging him to explain.
"How could they do such a thing—is it magick? They wouldn't take out your tongue..." I snorted. Thomas laid a finger alongside his nose again. I stepped back, stunned. That was some medieval bullshit for sure.
"Oh, Thomas. Is this because you talked to me?" He nodded; lips tight as he wrote something else. Not your fault.
I fell back against the edge of the bed. "I'm so sorry," I whispered.
He raked fingers through his hair, his jaw tense. Grabbing the notepad from my slackened fingers, he scrawled a question. Where am I? I forced my throat to form sensible words.
"At my friend's apartment in New York City. I don't know if I can send you back! I didn't know I could bring you here in the first place." What had I done? If the druids had removed his tongue for speaking with me, what would they do to him if they found he'd transferred to me against orders? I was a plague on everyone close to me.
With an alarmed expression he raised his arms so they made an X and shook his head emphatically. He wrote more. No! Don't try. I can return by tree myself if one is nearby.
"We have one on the rooftop," I said, glad to have something in our favor. He frowned and wrote another message.
"Are you alone?" I nodded. His question raised my adrenaline level even further. What would Alaric or Grayson do if they found him here? He showed me a new page.
"Must be in earth for it to work for me. Not potted". Oh. I thought for a moment.
"We have a problem, then. Central Park has lots of trees and is a few blocks away—but I can't get out of here. The elevator is...not exactly working."
His brow furrowed in thought. He picked up the notebook again.
It's possible to float down a building using air for resistance. You did it once before. Try?
Was he using drugs? NO! I wrote beneath his sentence, underlining it twice for emphasis. He crumpled the page in frustration.
Then he began writing and continued to write for a long time. He finally rested his hand and shoved the notebook towards me. His penmanship was beautiful.
I'm on house arrest. If they find I'm gone then my mom and dad will be killed. I told secrets without permission, and to the Druidic Order that is the worst thing I could do. They took my tongue as a lesson. With time I may get it back with magick. As long as I don't break the rules! Help me get down to the park.
"I will help you. But first, I want...need you to answer a question. Did your group have anything to do with killing my mother—or Lila's family? I've been hearing things that don't add up."
Thomas was already writing furiously before I even completed my sentence. He showed me the page.
That is what they want you to believe! Don't be stupid, Stella. Think! My order was there to protect Lila and her daughters. There is something special about you, and someone else wants you dead.
I shook my head. I didn't know what to believe. If Thomas' order caught him off house arrest, he and his family would be killed. That didn't sound like people who protected others. "Wait—there has to be a fire escape! I mean, all buildings have them, right?"
He huffed sharply and jumped up, motioning for me to hurry.
I led the way from my bedroom and through the apartment. The space beneath Alaric's office door was dark, and the penthouse was just as silent as it had been earlier. Yet somehow the apartment felt—on alert. Shaking off a sudden bad feeling, I guided Thomas through the kitchen where I entered the code for the garden door. It clicked and I pushed through.
The evening was still warm but quite a bit windier, and I had to catch the heavy door with my fingertips to keep it from flying. Flowers and shrubs swayed in concert with the heavy breeze. Thomas explored the space, touching the enormous Hemlock and patting it regretfully before he joined me to prowl along each wall in search of a fire escape. I returned to his side when he slammed his hands down on the stone wall several times to get my attention. I looked where he pointed and my stomach sank. There was a fire escape but it started two floors down. How could Alaric live here without a fire escape? The likely answer was that he didn't need one with magick.
Thomas pointed to me and then to the fire escape. I pretended not to understand.
"You want me to jump down two stories? I'll break my legs."
He rolled his eyes, exasperated. I crossed my arms in mutiny. With a calculated gleam in his eye, he hefted himself up onto the wide stone wall. The wind was stronger up there, and he held his arms out for balance as gusts tore at his clothes.
I inched closer, prepared to grab his feet, but he shuffled farther away. What was the idiot planning to do? He stared at me and made a noise low in his throat.
Anger mixed with fear as I understood he was risking his life in belief that I could help him lower to the fire escape with magick. I scrubbed my face with my hands, furious with his game. He remained standing with his arms outstretched. I licked my lips and drew closer. I eyed the drop to the metal frame and gauged the distance between the wall and the escape stairs.
"I'll try, Thomas. If I can't lift you or lower you—if this doesn't work—we’re calling the police to break us out. Deal?"
He watched me intently, neither agreeing nor disagreeing to my plan B. I didn't bring up Plan C, which involved me in handcuffs and the police scraping Thomas off the sidewalk far below.
I closed my eyes. Feeling the caress of the wind across my cheeks and hair, I swung my arms from side to side for no reason other than it felt good to build up the energy. I imagined the wind heeding my call. Doing my bidding. Not a slave but as one sentient being in partnership. A breeze circled my body and pulled gently at my clothes. I remained in that moment in perfect peace, absorbing the air into my lungs and releasing it as if the wind pulled it from my lips.
My mind was fully present as I imagined the breath in my body as a continuation of the breeze dancing across my skin. I visualized the air as an enormous hand. A hand that gently scooped up Thomas from his place on the wall. It would carry him out slowly and lower him as a feather to the fire escape landing. He would drift down, down, down all the way to the street. Thomas would be safe. The air would enclose and protect him.
My eyes opened and then bugged wide. I scrambled forward, searching the fire escape. It was empty. I prayed frantically, afraid to look down. If he'd plummeted to his death, he'd done so silently. I inhaled raggedly and forced myself to look. I blinked and blinked again, not trusting my eyes. A figure resembling Thomas stood on the sidewalk, waving both arms. I scanned the entire sidewalk to be sure. No bloody bodies anywhere.
Thomas walked backwards towards the park. Street lights illuminated his green hoodie and familiar grin. I offered a weak wave in return and Thomas turned and ran towards the park. I sagged against the wall, mentally giving myself a fist bump. The air died down just as a foreboding sensation crept along my spine. Something was off.
Suspicious, I turned in a circle, seeking out the shadows around me, but I was alone on the rooftop. The breeze rumpled the drowsy roses and box hedges. I still couldn't believe I'd lowered a man down the length of a building.
"Stella," called a booming voice. I jumped in place, startled. Murad stood in the doorway to the kitchen. He marched towards me, scanning the rooftop. His eyes glowed red in the night, and my feet edged backwards. This was a different Murad.
Someone physically more dangerous. A table dug into my hips as he stopped before me; the dim light illuminating his face. Its angles were sharper, his voice deeper, scarier.
"Are you hurt? A druid broke Alaric's protection. I need to get you out of here," he growled. Several figures appeared from thin air, weapons glinting within the shadows. They wore all black but for red sashes along their left sleeves.
"A-a druid?"
"Did you see anyone?" he barked.
How could I lie to Murad? On the other hand, if he knew I was friends with a druid, a member of an order he despised enough to go all red-eyed, what would he do to me? Would he force me to tell him about Thomas, who was already a prisoner?
"Absolutely not," I said, unblinking, despite the fact that my heart was galloping a mile a minute. Murad's eyes went vacant while his mouth hardened. He made a gesture to his guard. When he snapped his gaze back to me, he seemed a tad more in control. At least his face had gone back to its normal shape.
"Alaric is on his way. He was in Bulgaria but knows that I am taking you from here to my private sanctuary."
"Are we going to—to Paris?"
"We are going somewhere no one can touch you," he responded tersely. And then he grabbed me.
Chapter 25
The High Priestess
Stella
he windy rooftop disappeared. We stood within a quiet dark space, Murad’s hands on my shoulders. The scent in the confined area was sharp and overpowering.
"How are you doing? Okay?" he asked. The resonance of his voice had settled into its regular timber, thank goodness. That deep growl had freaked me the fuck out.
"Yes," I mumbled, uncomfortable to be so close, unable to see.
Light spread as Murad pushed a door open and we stepped into a small room with stone walls. Gasping for fresh air, I turned to see that we’d stepped from a closet with strange shapes carved into earth-caked walls. I wrinkled my nose and shut the door. The pungent, bitter odor still burned my nostrils.
